Don't Forget To Turn Off The Power

I inspected an apartment in Tarbes and found that the light switch was not working and the young Mormon missionaries who were living there were just leaving the hall light on to see when they used the bathroom. So much for privacy. It would be like putting a microphone in your john and broadcasting it throughout the house. So…. I decided to take the switch apart and see if I could fix it. Voltage here runs about 250V which if you touched the wire, would make you look like this chicken. Being much smarter than I used to be (having once drilled through a 220v line putting up a curtain rod) I turned off all the power to the apartment, removed the old switch and deciding it could not be repaired headed off to the brico.
I have spent a good deal of my life in lumber yards, tool stores, Home Despot, Sears and various other money pits, I was not too surprised to find the French have followed suit and come up with the “Brico”. There are various companies but all the stores are basically the same. Picture Home Despot with all the prices in euros and all the help wearing yellow vests and speaking a language that you don’t understand very well. The rows of home improvement/repair items seem to be endless and the number of people available to answer questions is in an inverse relationship to the number of things on the self. You have probably heard of surly French waiters, but let me assure you, they get their training from the guys at the brico. I finally found a guy in a yellow vest, showed him my broken switch and asked him if he could find me one just like it. He said no, and proceeded to recite the entire Gettysburg Address backwards at a phenomenal speed. I was quite impressed. Then he asked me if it was a two or three pole switch. I told him I did not want to discuss politics. After playing charades for a couple of minutes he handed me three items to replace the one I had in my hand and walked off. He didn’t give me a chance to ask him how the three parts went together, so, just to annoy him I tracked him down and asked where I could find a smoke alarm and a fire extinguisher. He was not amused.
Back at the apartment I stared at the three parts for twenty minutes until I had a general idea how they went together and installed the new switch. I turned the power back on and flipped the switch. No light. Slightly frustrated and not wanting to appear incompetent in front of the two young missionaries, I meditated for a few more minutes, dreading the thought of having to return to the brio and talk with Jean Pierre one more time and it came to me. There was an additional switch on the fixture. Voila, let there be light. There are few things in life more satisfying than a successful repair.
Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

Dead?

Worldwide custom dictates taking something to the host when you are invited to dinner. A flower arrangement, a beverage, a desert or anything else that shows the host you are grateful for the invitation and even more so, grateful that you don’t have to cook that meal at home yourself. Over time, we have been the recipients of some wonderful deserts, lots of bottles of Martinelli’s Sparking Cider, and one time a cheese plate with an opened and half consumed box of Triscuts. We can only assume that our guests got hungry on the way to our house. In our attempt to understand the culture of France and fit in, we have picked up on at least one interesting custom. Chrysanthemums are never to be taken to someone’s home as a gift, ever.
Why? I knew this would come up so here is the answer. On November 1 of each year there is a holiday called Toussaint. It’s All Saints Day. It is a day for remembering all your dead relatives and I guess the almost dead ones also. It was yesterday and all the government buildings, post offices, and most businesses in town were closed including the Huit a 8 (8 to 8) which is the French equivalent of the 7-11 only with different hours. Graves and monuments to those who have died were decorated with…you guessed it, Chrysanthemums. These beautiful flowers are considered the flowers of the dead.

Hence it’s considered bad taste to show up for dinner carrying a big pot of mums. Now you know.
thanks for listening, I feel much better.